


The Fever Dream

by NeuroVampire



Series: The Dreams [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 02:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroVampire/pseuds/NeuroVampire
Summary: Post Season 2 'The Nightmare Begins'Merlin dreams of doing things differently...





	The Fever Dream

_"Thank you, Merlin. I know now who I really am, and it isn't something to be scared of. Maybe one day people will come to see magic as a force for good."_

_"It's good to have you back."_

He'd laughed when Arthur had warned him off her, reminded him of his station, laughed as Arthur had been sadly unaware of the irony. He'd even chuckled when Arthur had reminded him he couldn't hide anything.

_"Wouldn't dream of it."_

But he did.

***

As he slipped into unconsciousness Merlin struggled against the taste of metal in his mouth, as if his lying and betrayal had coated his tongue. He had wanted to tell her, to share his own loneliness, his power, his joy, his fear. To show her that she was not alone.

His attempt to help her had failed, miserably. Though she seemed positive in her self-image now, his actions had led to deaths, to greater animosity to a peaceful people. 

That night his brain gave over to every part of the last 48 hours that he had compartmentalised, put in a little box marked "never" and stuffed to the back of his mind.

His guilt at the loss, at the lying, at letting her think she was alone, now more than ever.

Her eyes as she'd pleaded and begged him to confirm her suspicions. 

His lost opportunities.

The emerald green of her dress against her skin.

The sizzling crackling in the air when unrestrained magick had been released that first night. 

His blood beating a wild tattoo when he was near her, feeling tendrils of energy pouring of her as her emotions and lack of training flicked her magick out like tiny defensive blasts. 

He'd felt them licking against his own tightly restrained magick, known she'd been too wrapped up in the newness and fear of it all to properly register the answering thrum along those tendrils.

He'd registered, though. It had been hard to swallow against the rising call of his own magick, normally golden, powerful and bright, drawn to the dark, heated energy that was building in her. Had she any idea? Had Gaius? The Great Dragon? How could they not want to see that glorious, dark energy sent out and enriching the land? 

_"...to see magic as a force for good."_

_"It's..."_

In his dream the words died in his throat.

He let them hang, held her gaze.

He released the chokehold he had on his own magick, felt the air in the room grow heavy as the energy spread.

He watched her own breathing shift as, now calmer, she slowly registered the change. Her eyes narrowed as she struggled to place what was happening.

_"What..."_

Footsteps sounded further down the hallway and he snapped his hand out, "_Abanne ati."_

She jumped as the door slammed, as his eyes went gold and the lock snapped shut, as her mind registered the significance and slotted it against the events of the last two days.

Her eyes narrowed.

_"You...you have-"_

_"Magic. I have magic."_

In his dream her fear and fury elicited that painful mix of guilt and concern in him, an acid burn as she strode towards him, uncaring and unafraid of what she'd witnessed. 

Resplendent in her rage. 

In another time he might have added it to the list of things that made her brave. In this one he held firm as she glared at him.

_"How could you not tell me?"_

How could the air feel so close and tight? Her proximity, coupled with her emotions, left him reeling. The smell of her hair, flashing green eyes, the intangible thrum of her magick as it pushed outwards and against his own, darker still for her anger and frustration. 

In the real world he would have explained, would have begged forgiveness. Would have reminded her of her own reasons for secrecy, highlighted his position as even more precarious than her own.

A lowly servant discovered as a sorcerer? Uther would have been swift and certain.

But this was not the real world.

He remained silent, struggling to swallow against the dark energy pulsing against his own, holding her gaze steadily. She knew the reasons perfectly well.

The crack of her hand against his cheek echoed through the room, the silence that followed was deafening.

_"How dare you let me think I was alone."_

He stepped forward, the move forcing her back. His cheek stung, he tasted blood on his lip, his own magick building a defensive pressure that he normally held tighter.

He'd never been harder in his life.

_"Does Arthur know? Gaius? How long were you going to let me feel this way?"_

He stepped forward again, and again, and despite her flashing eyes, her voice shook.

_"How could you hide this from me?"_

Another step, another slap, her voice cracking with anger and betrayal.

_"I needed you-"_

He caught her hand at the same time she backed against the wall, and he could see the hurt beneath the anger and something darker still.

He leaned down, her breath fast and hot against his neck, her face tilting upwards without thinking.

_"I'm sorry, my Lady."_

She paused at the apology, his words admittedly choked and croaky as he felt her press further against him, thin wrist still gripped in his hand.

Her eyes widened slightly as she felt him against her stomach before flashing again.

_"You...you should have-"_

_"What, my Lady?"_

He looked to her wrist in his hand, stroked his thumb down the veins, stark blue against her pale skin. He kept his voice calm, neutral, watching the tiny pulse of her heartbeat as he stroked and spoke, contemplative.

_"Told you I'm a sorcerer? A powerful one? A threat to Uther and all that he stands for?"_

He heard her breath hitch as he leaned forward, ghosting lips over the base of her hand, felt himself throb as her sharp breaths pushed her closer against him. This was a dream, he felt no need to dissemble.

_"Should I have told you my destiny to protect the future king? That Arthur will bring about a new age where magic is welcomed?"_

From the corner of his eye he watched her shift minutely, her knees grinding against one another to relieve pressure. He felt that dark thrum of magick echoing against his own, let his other hand move to grip her ribcage as his voice dropped to a grating whisper.

_"Should I have trusted that you would keep my silence? Betray your guardian and the prince, abandon everything you'd grown up believing on the word of a servant?"_

He held her gaze again, watched her tongue flick out against parted lips. A move closer and his lips would ghost over hers, heady breaths sweet and hot against him. A fraction and he would be sealing his doom, well aware that whatever dark road her eyes called him down was one from which there would be no return.

He wanted to know.

_"My Lady? Should I have dared?"_

Her eyes narrowed and she smiled, a dark twist that called to some part of him as of yet undiscovered, something attached to destiny and power and what it meant to be a man.

_"Yes."_

She kissed him first.

In the morning, many hours later, he would thank his mind for being so generous.

In the dream, he groaned, releasing her wrist to grip her ribcage and she slipped her tongue past his lips and he tasted metal from his cut.

He grinned against her mouth, stroking a hand up her back, tangling it in those glorious black curls and relishing her answering moan. She tasted like cherries and sin, like plums and desire, like magic and magick and like Morgana.

He kept the hand in her hair, slipping the other over her backside, felt her gasp as he pulled her up against him. Lean, strong legs wrapped around his waist as he pushed back her skirts, slipping his hand over the soft skin of her thighs. His movement halted briefly as she ground against him, the sensation of her damp centre against his rigid cock enough to make him forget how to breathe. He felt her grin and hiss into his mouth, writhing, and knew he was nowhere near done exploring her.

Releasing her hair he gathered her wrists, pinning them above her head, bringing her chest to his face, pressing his hips against her to hold her up. Delicate collarbones and skin near transculent in the firelight, he gave himself a moment to track the veins mapping across her, the beat of her pulse in her throat.

Nimble fingers opened the clasp at the front of her gown, and he felt the air in the room grow even closer as he exposed her pale, creamy skin. He noticed that she'd stopped moving, breathing heavily and watching him closely as he studied her. 

Black curls fell around her shoulders, left bare when he'd opened her bodice. The heat rising from her skin didn't stop the goose flesh as she was exposed to the air in the room, her eyes fixed on his face to watch what he knew was an expression of awe. She looked like a creature of myth, all pale limbs and haunted eyes and he paused then, unsure and unworthy against that kind of beauty.

_"My Lady?"_

_"Merlin?"_

_"Tell me to stop."_

It was a plea, desperate and honest. Even dreaming this he could feel the wrongness of it, the gamble. She had to throw him back before he sealed his own fate, before he tasted any more of this magic and found himself addicted to it.

She licked her lips so slowly he swore he could feel it on his cock, eyes hooded as her red mouth twisted into a dark smile, and her answer was plain.

_"No."_

He crashed against her, hard enough that he'd be worried if she wasn't kissing him back just as passionately, pushing into his hands and sighing against his lips as he moved.

The sigh slowed him, made him grin against her mouth, enjoying her mewl as he pulled back to watch her face, the flush to her cheeks and the desire in her eyes. For him, for them, for this.

He drew a hand against her, gently rolling a thumb over her nipple, which puckered quickly in the cold room. The sound she made, a high sigh in the back of her throat as she held his eyes, would haunt him to the day he died. He did it again, enjoying the way her breath quickened, the stillness and heat. 

The hand that held her wrists loosened, and her hands fluttered to his shoulders as he brought his right hand to repeat the same moves as the left.

A dream it may be, but Merlin was watching the Lady Morgana struggle to breathe while he caressed her breasts, her legs locked around her, tiny shifting movements making him gasp as she pushed into his hands and mewled with pleasure. He thought perhaps if he slipped away in his sleep, if he died with these last thoughts in his kind, he would do so happily.

He bit gently against her neck, kissing his way downwards, feeling her hands tangle in his hair and hold him against her breast. Licked, suckled, and bit against her soft flesh and those dusky nipples as she began to push against him in earnest.

He ran one hand down to her thigh, stroked his thumb against the soft flesh as she pushed against him again and again, struggling to find her rhythm. He pushed a thumb against her, a cry piercing the room as she felt the pressure right where she needed to, and he acted purely on instinct.

Releasing, almost regretfully, his grip on her nipple he moved, lowered to his knees, swiftly wrapping the legs around his waist over his shoulders, felt her hand still in his hair and the other gripped a chest of drawers. He pushed her skirts back again, noting gratefully her lack of under garments, and took a moment to inhale deeply against her thigh.

He began to taste her, running lips and teeth up those slim legs, feeling her freeze and her fingers tighten to hold his hair. He stilled, waiting, until her knee shifted outwards, an invitation. He gently running a tongue over her centre, laving at her clit, noting the way her hands tightened at certain actions and repeating them accordingly. He grinned as he felt her relax, felt her begin to move, felt her shift against him as her breathing became shallow and erratic. He let himself drown, one arm around her waist anchoring her against him, the other gripping her thigh so tightly he wondered if he could mark her forever.

He learned her, felt when she began to rock against his mouth, noted the way her cries (muted somewhat by the strong thighs now wrapped tightly around his ears) began to take on a hypnotic rhythm, building and building until finally she went taught, releasing a single sweet note into the air in the chamber now thick with magick and the smell of sex.

He heard vase shatter as a bolt of her magick, uncontrolled and unhindered, lashed out like a whip. The sound and sudden release sent a throb straight to his groin and he stifled a moan against her soft skin.

Her hand loosened as she came down from her high, and he felt her slip one leg back down so she could plant her foot on the floor.

Her thighs still shook slightly, tiny tremors as he moved back, kissing her hip and standing carefully so as not to jostle her.

Morgan's hands slipped to his forearms, using him for balance as the last of the shaking slowed. Her hair was in disarray, her gown still slipped to her narrow waist, lips red and eyes downcast.

He could taste her on his tongue, lemon and berry, tangy and sweet. His cock twitched and he swallowed as her eyes slowly met his own, her hand pressing gently against his chest though he couldn't tell if it was for stability or to hold him back. He knew it, then. Knew she owned something of him, would own it for all time. Knew he would be unable, unwilling, to escape those green eyes and the sweetly heated smile.

His mind raced with ideas. To see her learn her magick. To have a partner with whom he could change Camelot. To taste every inch of her, to fuck her on Arthur's desk, to bring her keening and sighing to the brink, to have her ride him in the forest and watch her naked body glow in the moonlight.

Her eyes seemed to pull his every thought and he grinned, wrecked but ready, as her nails twitched against his sleeve and he saw dark intent in her movements. She moved then, slightly forward, and his eyes flicked to her lips as she smiled and leaned up towards him.

He woke, covered in sweat, harder than a diamond, and his mouth tasted of lemons and berries.

***

Across the castle, Morgana snapped upright in her bed.

She struggled to control her breathing, heart pounding, her centre throbbing.

She pushed back the covers and drew back the skirt of her nightgown, noted the finger shaped bruising against her pale thighs.

She stood quickly, shaking the dream from her head.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror, eyes wild and satiated. She knew full well that there was no fading bite mark against her neck. Twas but a trick of the light.

A dream, just a dream. Only a dream.

She moved to return to her bed, stopping only a moment when she saw the vase shattered on the floor.


End file.
